Each new day passed very much like the last in the citadel. In the morning the horns sounded to wake up the citadel’s residents, precluding the need for any form of alarm clock. Breakfast would be taken to the various living areas by an invisible army of workers, and shortly afterwards the unicorns who lived in that rust covered grave of alien ships set off to their variously assigned work stations. Lunch was delivered to these very same stations at midday on the dot, and just like the breakfasts, appeared like magic. The evenings worked in much the same way, however the meals were delivered to the workers rooms in time for the end of that days work period. It was all very clinical, precise, and above all, efficient.

Rinse and repeat.

Lyra was heartily sick of it all. As a singer and an archaeologist she was about as far from what you could call a ‘Creature of habit’ as you could ever wish to be. She suspected the ‘powers that be’ in the citadel knew that too. She was awoken by a zek every morning, long before the first horns blew. Breakfast would be there on a trolley outside her room which she would eat after washing, trot down to the empty laboratory, and spend the morning cleaning. Afterwards she joined other unicorns to clean the corridors, rooms, and whatever else needed doing. Latrine duty, she had decided, was most definitely the worst of an already dreadful assemblage of ‘duties’ she’d been assigned. At the end of the day Lyra was back in the laboratory to clean up before being collected by, once again, another of the resident monsters known as ‘Zeks’. She usually had a few hours before bed to read or whatever else she fancied, and then it was up again the following morning for more of the same. There were no days off. No holidays. No socialising with the others, and definitely no music. The cleaning staff she’d found did somehow find time to spend together, although only Celestia knew how. To them however, if they so much as saw Lyra coming they’d act as if they had something far more pressing to do than engage a newcomer in something as elaborate as, say, ‘conversation’. A social creature herself, this part of life in the citadel wore on Lyra the most. The appearance of Parchment was a rarity these days too. Sometimes he’d see her in passing and exchange a few pleasantries, but that was all. What truly frightened her though was that she was beginning to accept all of this as ‘the new normal’, as Parchment had said to her. Ha! As if this living nightmare could even remotely be considered ‘normal’ in any sane ponies mind! Well, to hell with the lot of them. You’d think she had some sort of communicable disease the way she was being treated.

It was around a week after she’d arrived on the island that she came across two ponies, two she recognised as belonging to the cleaning teams. They were standing in the corridor having a hushed conversation. So used as she was to being ignored, she was about to walk right past them when a name they used gave her pause.

“Thirty Thirty.”

Lyra nipped into a shadowed alcove in the corridor and pretended to be examining her hoof.

“What, he’s still alive?” one of them asked.

“Don’t know,” replied the other, “but one of the seekers told me he’d managed to kill one of the zeks before he disappeared out the sewers into the jungle.”

“Lode preserve us! The Maester will want heads to roll for that!”

“Huh! So long as it’s not mine I don’t give a shit. Besides, the zeks are supposed to be security around here aren’t they? If anypony’s going to get their brain box lopped off for that balls up it should be one of those freaks. Anyway, how come they didn’t know that thing was under our hooves all these years, living like a rat in the sewers?”

“I dunno. I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor sod. He deserved better than that.”

“Oh, come on! That thing was a freak show on two legs! It should never have been allowed to live in the first place. Humans shagging ponies was never going to end well, and they damned well knew it too. Anyway, you heard the stories about it back then. They can’t all be gossip and tittle tattle.”

“Gossip or not, the last thing I’m going to do is listen to stupid fantasy stories about ‘monsters in the sewers’. If anypony asks I’m just going to deny any knowledge of the whole bucked up situation, and I would suggest you do the same.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. I don’t fancy being the citadels first four legged zek!”

“Lode forbid!”

The two laughed like naughty school foals hiding a secret from their teacher as they walked away. Once they’d passed, Lyra let out the breath she’d been holding in. So… She’d been right, the maester had tried to have Thirty Thirty killed. Lyra shook her head in dismay. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Truth be told she hadn’t really thought all that much about the incident in the corridor, preferring instead to concentrate on her work, keeping herself to herself, and trying to pretend that this entire nightmarish situation was, one day, somehow, going to resolve itself. She wanted to go home. Oh gods, how she wanted to go home! But staying here sweeping the floors was doing very little to achieve that goal. I truth, every day that went by made the possibility of ever seeing Ponyville again seem more and more unlikely. The scientists had checked her over again a few times since that first day, but that had come to an abrupt halt a few days ago after whatever it was she’d had that had got them interested in her initially had… what was the word they’d used… ‘dissipated’? Yes, that was it, ‘dissipated’. Ha! The only attention she’d received since she’d been dumped here had been poking and prodding, and now even that had gone! Dissipated? Her whole bloody life had dissipated!

“Damn it all...” Lyra stared down at the brush. Goddesses, she couldn’t even recall picking it up! Her daily routine was now so ingrained in her that muscle memory had taken over from her brain, leaving the small blob of grey matter floating there in a literal world of its own. Maybe it was just as well. If she thought too much about how awful her life had become she’d doubtless go completely round the twist. But still… was this it for her now? Was there nothing else for her other than to clean and clean and clean and-

“Excuse me, Miss Heartstrings, wasn’t it?”

“Hmm?” Lyra was so used to ponies talking around her, that to actually have one address her directly was something of a novelty. She looked up.

“Or would you prefer I refer to you as Generalissimo Pancake Batter?”

The familiar peach coated mare in the lab coat was looking at her with those pretty blue eyes of hers. “What is it?” Lyra asked wearily, “Need something brushed up? Or have you decided to run more tests on me?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” the mare said pleasantly. “I was wondering if you’d like a cup of tea.”

Tea? Oh, hell yes! Lyra’s eyes lit up.

“First though, I was wondering if you’d care to help me move one of the converter units,” the peach mare stated. “Everyponies knocked off for the day, but I really need to get these last readings sorted out before morning. You know how Isanderia gets!”

Not really, Lyra thought bitterly. But he’s a prick of the highest bloody order, that’s for damned sure. “Oh, yes!” she smiled. Gods, what a bitch! Still, at least there was a cuppa at the end of it.

“It’s over here,” Hesta said chirpily.

The two walked across to the opposite side of the domed room, passing the large circular portal. “Any progress?” Lyra asked, trying her hoof at small talk.

Hesta nodded enthusiastically, “Actually, yes. And in no small thanks to you, would you believe.”

“I’d hoped that all that poking was for more than just idle curiosity,” Lyra replied cheekily.

If Hesta picked up on Lyra’s sarcastic tone she didn’t let on. “Oh, it was far more than that,” she explained. “The thaumaturgical resonance in your personal magic aura had been...” She paused, looking at Lyra as a mother would look down at an infant. “I’m sorry, this must be going right over your head.”

“Not quite,” Lyra replied, biting back a more acerbic remark.

“Really?” Hesta’s eyebrows went up in exaggerated surprise.

Lyra nodded, “Try me.”

“I will,” Hesta said with a smile. “I must say, I don’t have much time nor call to converse with the menials as a rule. But...” She cleared her throat. “Very well.” The mare came to halt, turning to face the green mare, “When a biological passes through a portal, their personal magical aura, or P.M.A as we refer to it, creates a resonance with the magic of the portal itself.”

“It harmonises,” Lyra said, ignoring the ‘menial’ reference.

Hesta smiled broadly, “Exactly! You see, the magic wavelengths and frequencies we use in tuning the master portal have been mostly guesswork up until now.”

“I presume you mean, until I arrived?” Lyra asked.

“And your friend of course. ‘Parchment’ I believe?” Hesta nodded to herself, “The two of you exhibited a great deal of residual resonance which we were able to record and refine, thereby allowing us to isolate the specific frequency wave.”

“O-kay, and what use is that to the project?”

“Use?” Hesta frowned. “A good question… a good question...” She raised an eyebrow, “How do I put this… You see, each portal is attuned to a particular thaumaturgical wavelength, yes?”

Lyra raised an eyebrow, “Like a radio wave?”

“Similar,” Hesta replied. “I see you’ve heard of them.”

“Heard of them?” Lyra chuckled, “I’ve been on the radio loads of times.” At Hesta’s confused expression she explained, “We have radios in Equestria nowadays. They’re magically operated of course, rather than electrically like the ones the humans have.”

“When you say, ‘you’ve been on them’,” Hesta asked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that I’ve had my music played over the radio,” Lyra said, a little surprised by Hesta’s question. “You know, for entertainment?”

“No… Not particularly.” Hesta gave her mane a shake, “The humans mentioned something about that.” She waved it away with a perfectly manicured hoof. Goddesses, Lyra wondered, how in Luna’s name did a mare get a hooficure out here?! “Anyway,” Hesta continued, “The single destination portals, or S.D.P’s, use a mono wavelength that is unique to that route, thus allowing users to travel from either point to the corresponding point at the other end. You understand?”

Lyra nodded thoughtfully, “Yes, but now that the portal at the equestrian end has been destroyed, what use would the information you gathered from me be in regards to the master portal? You can only use a complete portal, right?”

“Ah, well that’s not entirely true,” Hesta beamed, happy that Lyra was paying attention. “A portal that has been damaged usually shuts down completely for safety reasons. Some, however, do not. The very old ones can become unstable, bypassing the safety designs that prevent travel. In those cases the traveller can be ejected, potentially you understand, at any point along the old route. Or perhaps…” she shrugged, “not at all.”

“Not at all?” Lyra felt a shiver run through her. “You mean they die in there?”

“Presumably,” Hesta replied. “We don’t know precisely, as a lot of what we know is taken from our translations of ancient equestrian in the old manuals and texts from the earliest days on the island. That is why having a recent traveller to the island is so important. Now we can see, first hoof, what portal travel actual does to a ponies PMA.”

“Hang on a second, did you say you have manuals?!” Lyra couldn’t believe it. “I thought everypony on the island was descended from prisoners?” Parchment had been quite specific on that point. “I doubt the authorities would have sent you instruction booklets on how to break out of your prison!”

“Prisoners?” Hesta blinked in surprise, “Who in Lode’s name told you that rot?!” She shook her head vigorously, “No, no, no. We’re all descendants of the portal engineers, the greatest pioneers of the golden age that gave us the grand network ponies enjoy to this very day!”

“Um...” For some reason Lyra suddenly felt uneasy. It wasn’t just the fact that Parchment had told her the ponies on the island were prisoners, or rather the descendants of prisoners sent here centuries ago, nor was it that Hesta appeared to believe the portal network was still in daily use. No, it something else, something she couldn’t quite put her hoof on. She cleared her throat and asked, “Who are the villagers, Hesta? They’re descendants of the engineers too, aren’t they?”

To say Lyra had trodden on the proverbial land mine was an understatement. Hesta’s previously light hearted mood vanished like morning mist, leaving the irritated mare she’d first met when she’d been assigned to cleaning the laboratory.

“The villagers are aberrations,” came the cold reply. “Earth ponies are a subspecies of equine, fit for doing what they do best – toiling in the fields and pulling a plough. The pegasi are little better, however at least they have been put to some practical use which benefits the citadel.”

“But they’re still ponies!” Lyra tried to point out. “They’re intelligent beings, Hesta, the same as-”

“They are not the same as us!” Hesta’s blue eyes flashed angrily. “You cannot seriously believe that a dumb beast of burden like an… an ‘earth pony’ can operate complex machinery, let alone use magical apparatus? As for expecting one to even begin to understand the higher forms of thaumaturgical science is nothing short of laughable!”

Lyra felt her mane twitch. “We’re all children of the goddesses,” she said through gritted teeth.

“What nonsense!” Hesta let out a throaty chuckle. “Folksy nonsense from the pre-enlightenment age! I would have thought you of all ponies would have understood the difference between the races, Miss Heartstrings.”

“And why’s that exactly?” Lyra asked.

“Because,” Hesta replied, “a civilisation that has progressed to the point of having radio communications, portal technology, flying machines, cinema, and so on and so forth, cannot believe in fantasy stories about alicorns and, good grief, ‘gods’ of all things! It’s just counterintuitive.”

“You’ve obviously been talking to Parchment,” Lyra said defensively. “So you must know that Celestia and Luna are real.”

“Oh they’re ‘real’, I’m sure,” Hesta snorted. “Just as you and I are real. But sticking a horn on a pegasus doesn’t make it a unicorn.”

“No, it makes it an alicorn,” Lyra snorted back. “They have magic, Hesta, and they can fly. For goodness sake, I’ve seen with my own two eyes!”

“I don’t doubt that you have,” Hesta replied. “But does that make them gods?” She began to walk away, “Have you witnessed them ascending to the heavens surrounded by the heavenly host, Lyra? Are they truly omnipotent and omnipresent? Do they grant your wishes and perform miracles?” At Lyra’s lost expression she sniffed imperiously, “Oh, you poor creature. I had hoped that such superstitious nonsense would have died out in Equestria long before now. Sadly, I can see my hopes were woefully misplaced.”

Lyra felt outmanoeuvred. By Luna this mare was aggravating! Not to mention the way she’d suddenly taken to calling her by her first name in a nerve wrenchingly condescending tone that made Lyra want to strangle the obsequious creature. She took a breath and rallied the best she could, trying in some small way to maintain a modicum of self respect. “You can say what you like about the princesses,” she retorted, “but since I’ve been here I’ve heard plenty of ponies referring to this ‘Lode’ character as if he was a god. What makes him any more a deity than two alicorns we can actually see, hear, and interact with?”

“Oh my, you’re talking about that old nonsense?” Hesta began to laugh. And goddesses, what a laugh she had too! It was like a sack of seals being kicked by a mule. “Do you know who Lode was?” she asked. “He was a volunteer, Miss Heartstrings, a drunkard who wagered his entire life savings that he would be the first equine to travel through a portal. And, I might add, the first to return.”

“And I take it he didn’t?” Lyra asked.

“Of course not!” Hesta snorted. “At that time, with debt hanging around his neck and criminal charges for some undisclosed offence waiting for him back in Equestria, he opted to stay on the island. Later on more volunteers, then the engineers, came through to start work on the master portal.”

“So how come none of them went back to Equestria?” Lyra probed questioningly.

“How do you know they didn’t?” Hesta lifted an eyebrow, “I don’t know everything about the earliest days, but I know enough to be able to distinguish fact from fantasy.”

“For example that Lode was not some god-like pony for the masses to worship?”

“Children do so like their toys,” Hesta grinned. “If they want to believe in something like that, why not let them? So long as their primitive beliefs remain benign then the maester will tolerate it. Should it someday become a problem… well, then the zeks can deal with it.”

Lyra blinked at that, “A bit extreme don’t you think?”

“I ‘think’ that we’ve talked quite long enough for one day,” Hesta replied simply. She lifted a hoof, indicating the large cabinet that needed moving. “Use your telekinesis on that side and I’ll take this. We can slide it over a few feet and that way I can make room for my new workbench.”

Well, we couldn’t want to hold that up now would we! Lyra thought bitterly.

The two took hold of the cabinet and, with no small amount of effort, the two mares lifted the weighty thing and floated it sideways until it was standing next to another equally inexplicable piece of ‘technology’. Lyra watched the other mare out of the corner of her eye as they worked. She’d thought Hesta was one of the snooty types when she’d first met her, and after today she was pleased to say that she’d changed her mind. No, the scientist wasn’t snooty… she was a bitch. More specifically she was a stuck up, bigoted, bitch. Hell, Bonnie was an earth pony for Celestia’s sake! She was also the brains of their particular duo, and not one single drop of magic in sight either. What had Hesta called them again? A ‘Subspecies’? No doubt her childhood friend would have a few choice things to say about that little remark! Calling her a ‘bitch’ wouldn’t have even come close.

Lyra stood back and dusted herself off. Moving the cabinet had revealed a surprising amount of dirt, scraps of paper, and various oddments that had accumulated over who knew how long. Hesta, gods bless her, had noticed it too. She glanced at Lyra. The following words were all too predictable…

“Can you get that cleaned up?” Hesta asked almost politely. “And once you’ve done that, you can move my new desk over to where it was. It’s over there in the stair well. I don’t think you’ll need my help now, you seem quite capable of lifting things.” It was the way she said ‘lifting things’ that made Lyra’s eye twitch. On the subject of which, this stuck up creature was asking for a black one! Unfortunately giving in to such a doubtlessly pleasurable action would lead to unfortunate repercussions that probably involved the liberal application of zeks. As much as it would have been a well deserve walloping… Lyra groaned inwardly… What was the use? There was a pecking order here, and she knew exactly where she was on that metaphorical list.

“I’ll get on with it now,” she said wearily.

“Excellent!” Hesta chirped. “Now, I really must be going. I’m sure you won’t mind going past your time a little, Lyra. We do appreciate the work you do here, you know.”

“Always a pleasure,” Lyra replied with as sincere a smile as she could muster. “See you tomorrow.”

Hesta waved a hoof and left, leaving the green unicorn to snatch up her brush. What followed was a string of expletives that would have had even the most hardened dockyard worker blushing. Bloody hell, were they all like this here? They treated her like a menial labourer, putting her in mind of a very particular song…

“Day is never finished, maester got me workin’, someday maester set me free...”

Lyra chuckled to herself, tidying up the dust and hair covered bits of detritus. It was a fact of life that ponies shed hairs, but dear goddesses, there was enough here to knit a sweater! She bent down to pull at some fragments that were stuck underneath. One in particular was especially stubborn, “Come on you-!” Suddenly a metal panel gave way on the cabinet and Lyra flew backwards, painfully thumping her head off the wall making her see stars. Everything, as always it seemed to the unfortunate mare, snowballed at once. The metal panel clattered onto the floor with an ear splitting racket that echoed around the room like a bell. The thing she’d similarly clattered her noggin off gave way too, falling aside and pitching her backwards into a dark void of wires and pipework. Lyra shrieked in fright, scrabbled for purchase, and let out a bloody curdling wail as the floor beneath fell away into absolute, and complete, darkness.

Somewhere in the darkness a shadowy form moved, rising from the shapeless mound of ancient debris. Slowly, inexorably, it rose as though from the most ancient depths of forgotten history where only nightmares reside. The thing breathed out a huff of air, blowing the dust of countless ages out into the stale air.

“Oh, bugger me sideways…”

This was becoming a habit. How many times was she going to fall into or through things in this damnable land? Cursing, Lyra rose to her hooves as best she could, shaking herself free of the rusted things that had fallen down here with her. Speaking of which, where the hell was she? She focussed her mind on her magic, letting it form into the glowing golden hand she used for playing her instruments. It was a silly thing really, mostly based on drawings she’d found in Hidden Path’s book. That, and their ape cousins she’d seen whilst she’d been travelling. Actually, were they cousins? She wasn’t so sure now, but the resemblance was still there. Now that the magical appendage was floating before her it looked more like… Blue’s hand. Lyra sighed and lifted herself from the pile of debris, taking in where she was. At first glance it looked frighteningly like the place that creature, Thirty Thirty, had kept her. A little wave of the hand revealed the truth: this was no monsters den, it was a room, a cabin really, not unlike the one she occupied herself. It clearly hadn’t been occupied for a long time, and the door into the room seemed to be blocked with debris from the other side. She flicked the light switch on the wall. Nothing. It wasn’t all that surprising considering the layer of dust in the place, it clearly hadn’t been used in a very, very long time. The bedding was missing too, the bedframe a little rusty by the looks of it, and the furniture was more functional than anything. A calendar hung on wall, clearly denoting the passage of time from the human realm. A photograph of a naked human female adorned it, draped over some sort of vehicle she couldn’t quite make out. A typically male item, it was similar to any number of calendars Lyra had seen hanging up in factories, locker rooms, and other places where males tended to congregate. To Lyra’s analytical mind it was absolutely fascinating to see just how similar the two races were to one another. Testosterone was universal apparently!

Lyra looked closer at the pictures. She’d seen depictions of human females before, notably in the magazine in the mess room on the ship and the pamphlet in her room, but they had all been fully clothed. This one, and the others from previous months, were far from it. Breasts featured prominently too, the females all but thrusting them towards the viewer. The machines they were draped over were similar to bicycles, but with some kind of... motor? There were pipes too, all of it interconnecting. It reminded her of some of the humans machinery she’d seen in the engine room of the ship, but much more refined. And polished! Good grief, they must had really liked their two wheeled machines! That said there was a connection between the females and these machines that Lyra couldn’t quite fathom. One month equalled one naked female and one machine. Turn the page, and there was another female with another of the two wheeled machines. The females were all slightly different too, with different skin colours, hair colour, and of differing height. The machines too were of different colours, but all on a similar theme of two wheels. Was this some kind of sexual ritual? Perhaps the human females presented their desired partner with one of these two wheeled contraptions as an invitation to mate? Strange, but it seemed plausible. Of course it could simply be there for no more than titillation. But why the machines?

“Weird...” Lyra muttered.

The brief examination of the room uncovered the hole she’d fallen through had enough cabling and pipework hanging down for her to grab hold of in her magic and haul herself out. After this she was going to grab a shower and call it a day. Hesta could stuff her bloody ‘new desk’ where the sun didn’t shine! Leaving dangerous places like this half covered just showed you how cack-hoofed some of the… “Hello, what’s this?” Something had caught her eye. She’d nearly missed it, but there, propped up in the corner, was the unmistakable shape of a guitar. An image of Blue flashed into her mind. “You’re coming with me, matey boy.” And thus, with the application of a little magic and propping the old bed against the wall to act as a makeshift ladder, both mare and guitar made their way up into the familiar light of the domed laboratory.

“Best tidy up first,” Lyra muttered to herself, and duly set about putting the panel back just as a certain chocolate brown stallion appeared right behind her.

“Lyra?”

“GODS BUCK ME SIDEWAYS!” Lyra span round, dropping the guitar and fell backwards against the newly re-installed panel. “Bloody hell fire, you stupid bucker, you scared the living shit out of me!” She closed her eyes and lifted her muzzle, gulping down air. “Parchment, you… Don’t do that to me! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“No?” Parchment looked at her curiously. So far as Lyra was concerned he was either being ironic, and idiot, or just deliberately obtuse. Knowing him it was the latter.

“What do you want?” Lyra asked. “Can’t you see I’m working here?”

“I was passing by when I heard a crash and a scream,” Parchment replied. “I was looking to see where it came from and found you still here when you were supposed to have knocked off work.” He raised an eyebrow, “The scream sounded like it came from you.”

“Did it now?” Lyra brushed the cobwebs off her coat and blew the hair out of her face. “Well, Mister Detective, as you can see I’m perfectly fine, no thanks to the bullshit design of this place. She jerked her hoof over her shoulder, “A panel gave way and I fell in. It’s fixed now, but nothing a touch of welding couldn’t fix properly.”

“I’ll have a word with the repair team.”

“Good, I’d appreciate it,” Lyra huffed. “I prefer my working days to remain plummet free, thank you so much.” She followed his gaze, “What?”

“That’s a guitar,” Parchment said with a frown.

“So?”

“Musical instruments are prohibited items,” Parchment said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “It will have to be destroyed.”

“It will what?” Lyra’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re kidding me, right? That’s nuts!”

“That’s the rules, Lyra.”

“Yeah? Well buck the rules, Parchment.” She turned her flank to him, showing him her cutie mark. “You see this? This is a musical instrument, and I, as much as I used to dig in the ground for a living, am a musician.” She turned back to him, meeting his gaze. “I need this, Parchment. I can’t remember the last time I heard or played music, and it is not healthy, do you hear me?” She took a breath, “This place is suffocating me! I feel like I’m dying here, wasting away day after rotten sodding day. The least I can have is a bit of bucking music to-”

“Alright, alright,” Parchment conceded, waving a hoof. “Just, keep it hidden and use you magic to put up a sound nullification shield when you play that thing, okay?” He gave his mane a shake, “So far as I’m concerned I didn’t see it or hear it, understand?”

“Verstanden, Herr Parchment!” Lyra snapped off a sarcastic salute.

Parchment just rolled his eyes, “What’s that over there?” He nodded towards a small leather bound book lying on the floor. It was covered in dust close to the cabinet, and by the looks of it was the thing Lyra had been pulling on which started this whole mess. “That?” she said innocently, “Oh, that’s a book I brought down from my cabin to read during my break. I must have dropped it when I fell through that dodgy panel.” She shrugged, leading Parchment to shake his head.

“I wouldn’t leave it lying around here,” Parchment said in reply. “They’ll be angry with you if you leave a mess.”

“Really? I never would have guessed!” At the stallion’s hurt expression Lyra relented. “I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “It’s been a long day, and I still haven’t finished.”

“You haven’t finished yet?” Parchment blinked in surprise. “You should have-”

“I know,” Lyra interrupted, “but first I had to help Hesta move the cabinet, then there was the whole falling through a hole thing, and I’m supposed to move that bloody desk over here now.”

“The desk over there?” Parchment looked towards the stairwell were Lyra had motioned. “I’ll sort that out. You tidy up here, and stow that guitar somewhere in the meantime.”

“I’m on it!” Lyra’s spirits picked up at that offer of help, and she quickly collected the guitar, hiding it at the back of the cleaning cupboard. When she had time she’d try and smuggle it back to her room. There were plenty of cloths and towels around, so she could stash it in one of the laundry bags and cover it up. If anypony asked she could tell them she was on her way to the laundry to do the washing. Tomorrow would be ideal!

“All done.”

“Eh?!” Lyra looked up in amazement. Sure enough, the desk was exactly where Hesta had asked for it to go. “Bugger me, that was quick.”

“No flies on me,” Parchment said in his usual emotionless tone. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

“Um, aren’t I supposed to have a zek escort?” Lyra asked, looking around for one of the dull beasts.

Parchment shook his head, “Not at the moment. They’re still out looking for that monster you mentioned.”

“Monster?” Lyra’s head shot up as she realised what he was saying. “You mean Thirty Thirty?”

“I believe that’s what it’s called, yes.”

“Oh...” An odd sense of guilt flushed over Lyra, making her ears burn. “You know, Parchment, I’m… I’m not entirely sure he is a, you know, a monster?”

The brown stallion gave her a look which suggested she might be talking right out of her behind. “It did grab you from a corridor and kept you in its lair until you escaped, didn’t it?” he asked. “Or did I misunderstand something you said?”

Lyra scratched at her mane, looking away as she fought to find the right words, “Well, you see, it wasn’t exactly like that. I mean, not in so many words…” She let out a long sigh, staring forlornly at the ground. “What I mean to say is, well, it’s true that the chock attacked me after the zek buggered off, but the thing is that… Well, if Thirty hadn’t grabbed me in the first place, I’d be...” She swallowed, “I’d be dead.”

“There was blood everywhere, Lyra,” Parchment pointed out, apparently ignoring Lyra’s awkwardness.

“I know!” Lyra said, “But it was from the chock that Thirty killed. He said he was going to eat it later. The chock, that is.”

“As opposed to you, you mean?”

“Yes!” Lyra nodded vigorously. “Anyway, after he gave me a cup of tea he kinda went nuts, and I mean seriously nuts! That’s when I bugged out as fast as I could.”

“It gave you a cup of tea.”

“Yeah I know! Crazy, right?” Lyra hesitated. “Anyway, it came charging after me like I told you, screaming my name like some deranged psycho, and… well, you know the rest.” She shivered, “It was like the phantom of the opera, you know, the one where the freaky loon has an obsession with-”

“It’s a play, Lyra,” Parchment cut in. “It isn’t real.”

“Well, duh! I know that, smart arse.” Lyra lifted her muzzle and huffed. Cheeky sod! Of course she knew it was a play! “Anyway, I… Oh, I don’t know, Parchment. Thirty didn’t seem to want to hurt me is what I’m saying.”

“He strangled you,” Parchment noted. “I saw the marks on your neck, Lyra.”

“He only did that after I said ‘unicorn’,” Lyra countered.

“Unicorn?” Parchment looked amazed. “You said ‘unicorn’ and he tried to throttle you? Good goddesses, Lyra, are you actually trying to make excuses for a monster that strangles ponies when they utter his Celestia damned trigger word?! That’s a pretty fine margin for error when you’re living in a structure full of unicorns!”

“I know, I know, it’s just...” Lyra shook her head; lost, once again, for the right words. “Oh, I don’t know, I just find the whole thing so crazy. Hell, maybe I’m going crazy. This place effects you, Parchment. Look at you for example, you’re all stiff and formal all the time, and I feel as if all my creativity, everything that makes me what I am, is slowly draining away like water down a plughole.” She closed her eyes and sniffed, “You don’t think it’s that portal, do you? You don’t… you don’t think it’s sucking all of our willpower away and turning us into mindless drones with the maester as the queen at the centre of it all?”

A terrible silence fell, all except for the steady clopping of their hooves. “You’re overthinking things.” Parchment’s neck quivered, “Lyra, listen, it doesn’t matter who or what that Thirty creature is or was. He may have saved you from the chock, I accept that, but he still hurt you. If you hadn’t gotten away when you did, you may have still been down there now. If that thing eats chocks then it doesn’t take a huge leap of logic to presume that it wouldn’t hesitate at eating ponies.” He gave her a hard look, “A pony like you.” They stopped outside Lyra’s door, “It’s over now anyway. The zeks will hunt it down and it will be dealt with, and that will be an end to the matter.”

“’Dealt with’,” Lyra repeated. “I heard somepony else use that term, Parchment.” She leaned forward and, much to the young stallion’s surprise, gave him a nuzzle. “Be careful around the others here. We’re the only two from Equestria on this island, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Whatever was going on inside Parchments head gave him pause. He took a step back, glanced around himself, and then reached forward and gave Lyra a hug. “Take care of yourself too,” he breathed. “Just bear in mind that things here are not always what they appear.”

“They’re not?”

“No, I-” Parchment froze as a voice called from the end of the corridor.

“Parchment? Is that you?” The voice sounded irritated. “The maester has been calling for you. Hurry now, you don’t want to keep her waiting any longer than she has already.”

“I have to go,” Parchment whispered. “Please, Lyra, keep your head down and don’t cause waves!” He backed out and raised his voice, “Coming.” Turning back to her, he said, “Good night, Miss Heartstrings. Please be sure to let the work assigner know when you will be working late in future.”

“I will,” Lyra said quickly. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Parchment nodded, and with that, left to follow the other stallion. Lyra didn’t watch him go. Instead she closed the door, flopped to the floor, and leaned back against it. Her heart was beating like a drum, and a very fast drum at that. A flood of disjointed events played through her mind one after the other, all of them mashing together and then swirling away like fog as she tried to wrestle some sense out of the madness. Above it all a herd of chocolate brown stallions flowed like rain over the landscape of insanity – Things are not all they appear. Ha! She could have told him that the moment she walked out of that bloody portal! Not that she had actually ‘walked’ out in the first place. No, she’d been thrown out, spewed into this hellish nightmare in a halo of fire. Fire? It seemed oddly appropriate somehow. Maybe… Maybe this was hell. Oh gods, what if she was dead? Was this… Was this purgatory? Maybe this was her punishment for living such a wild life of drink, sex, and loud music? Surely not! She’d been a good mare for the most part. Sure, she hadn’t- “Ow!” Something was digging into her rump and she reached down. It was her panniers. With a bit of wriggle and a hard tug she pulled them off, shoving them aside as she wallowed in self doubt and worry. What she needed right then was a drink. Unfortunately all they had here was tea, water, and variations on the theme of blandness. Gods forbid that a pony had something that might distract from ‘The Great Project’! Maybe a read would help settle her down for the night…

Lyra was about to get up and rummage through the bookshelf when her eyes drifted back to her panniers. That little book she’d found! She had no idea why she’d lied to Parchment about its origins, after all it was probably just a long forgotten journal or instruction manual from one of the scientists that had fallen down the back of the cabinet and got stuck. Judging by the state of the thing that’s exactly what had happened too. It was, however, a lot older than she’d expected. The leather bound item literally stank of damp; that uniquely papery mustiness which old books were prone develop when left behind in long forgotten places. Aside from the state of the cover though the paper itself was in quite good condition, and thankfully dry enough for the pages to turn without sticking to one another. What was surprising was that it was mostly written in ancient equestrian, with a few more modern terms thrown in here and there. So much for nice relaxing read! Still, Lyra had a good knowledge of the old language of her homeland. Even if she hadn’t exactly excelled academically during her school years, this had been one field where she had. The difference was that ancient equestrian was actually interesting. It had side benefits too, particularly when it came to her written works and requests for lectures on the old world. That, it has to be said, had been pleasantly lucrative too. The books had sold reasonably well, albeit to a very limited audience due to its subject matter. Not exactly ‘required reading’ in colleges and universities, her treatise on ancient sculptures and the deities of the various tribes and other peoples of Equestria had been in the top sellers list for academics for the last three years. She’d been very proud of that, and it was oddly ironic that she was still scratching in the dirt up to her fetlocks in mud or trying to get a few bits singing gigs, instead of lording it up in some mansion surrounded by hot and cold running staff. So much for ‘the riches of academia’!

The first page of the book was written in faded black ink. Touching it produced a faint tingle which was indicative of magic at work, but nothing dangerous so far as she could tell. By the looks of things a spell had been cast on the archaic tome to prevent it decaying any further than it had. That was interesting in itself. Clearly somepony had wanted to protect it, and although simple, the ward was just as strong today as it had been when first cast. Intrigued, Lyra began to read.

I have decided to keep a journal of my discoveries in the fields of experimental trans-dimensional teleportation dynamics and theoretical thaumaturgical applications. Hopefully this will prove of some use in the future should I ever deem it necessary to refer back to see why I thought this path I am taking was a good idea to begin with. For now at least, I am unsure that I should not have simply followed in my father’s hoofsteps and concentrated on learning his trade before I inherit the family vineyards. Although I cannot abide the taste of the rotten liquid, my future fortunes are assured upon his demise. Perhaps if I merely employed staff who knew what they were doing and ‘supervised’ from a distance? It would doubtless allow me the time to concentrate on my true passion and, just as importantly, provide a steady flow of bits to help achieve the goals I have set myself.

Lyra turned the page, picked up a carrot stick, and began munching. So far it seemed that the erstwhile scientist who had penned this diary had been a touch reluctant to begin a diary in the first place. Not only that, but they hadn’t been especially confident that they were working on something that was actually achievable. At least, that was the impression Lyra had from some of the opening remarks, not least of which were copious scribbled notes in the border proclaiming certain information she’d recorded as ‘Pointless!’, ‘Ludicrous!’, or her personal favourite, ‘Buckweaseling morons!’ She’d laughed at that one, spitting carrot particles over the bed spread. In the process of brushing the orange fragments from the bed, Lyra accidentally knocked the diary over, losing her place. With a cluck of her tongue she picked it up, and then, to her surprise, noticed a name on the open page that she recognised - ‘Pudding Head’. Good goddess, that was the name of the leader of the earth ponies from the time of three tribes! She read on…

I cannot believe that the cretins in charge of magical research at the academy have cancelled, CANCELLED!!! MY WORK! The bucking, arse licking scum. SCUM!!! Every last bucking one of them should be taken out and flogged, hanged, and then chopped into pieces for the disgusting traitorous lies they have perpetuated to their people! I hate them! HATE THEM!!!

“Wow!” Lyra took a sip of her drink. “Settle down there, girl. You know what they say about the excessive use of exclamations.” She chuckled and continued…

Alibus, that tired old goat of a stallion, had the sheer audacity to tell me this morning that negotiations between that buckwitted, buckweasel, ‘King’ Broad Elm, and the assorted imbeciles in our high council, had ‘hi-lighted concerns’ about what he called the ‘potential for the proliferation of portals around the borders of ‘his’ kingdom, as apparently they ‘could be used to stage an invasion of his lands’! A more egregious display of self righteous hubris I have never before seen in my life. Who the hell does he think he is? No wonder they call him ‘Pudding Head’! That dim witted mud pony is only in the position he is because we permit him to be so. If our ‘glorious leaders’ had the backbone to say what we’re all thinking instead of playing pat-a-cake with the dullards, then we’d be in complete control of all the land dwelling creatures instead of ‘sharing’ it with the educationally and physically subnormal. The pegasi, unable to feed themselves without our help, would soon follow suit. Subjugation of the two would make us all the stronger. Of that I have no doubt.

“Good goddesses, megalomania here we come!” Lyra sniggered and flicked to another page further on. “Let’s see what you’re up to now, me duck.” It did seem a bit of shame, skipping to the end like that, but then she’d always been the impatient type. Besides, she could always go back and read it all at any time she wanted. She took a biscuit and flicked through to one of the last entries.

Today was the last day, the absolute culmination of all of my hard work and dedication these last twenty years. The emergent system is as perfected as it can be considering the current situation I find myself in; this despite there being so much more I could have done for Equestria, and the benefits they would bring to all of pony kind. What I leave now is more than simply a legacy however, it is the future - a bright, wondrous future that will improve the way of life for our people. I can only pray that they will eventually come to understand the incredible potential of such a marvel of magical science. To that end I have left a copy of all my experimentations, directions, and even the prototype, in a will made out to my most trusted student.

I have no regrets for what I have done to achieve this goal, and I go to my fate knowing I have done all that I can. Let those who doubted me dwell in their own filth and depravity whilst those whose minds are still open can someday lead us out of the darkness. It is no wonder those who call themselves the ‘wendigo’ have left us. Sometimes I wish I had joined them myself, leaving the closed minded amongst our ruling classes behind. Alas, the time for regret is done and gone. They will be here soon enough. As I pen these last words in the land of my birth, the portal is standing open, waiting for me. The matrices are set, the explosives primed. Now there is only one last thing to do: I shall take one final look at my home to say goodbye before the spells activate.

Tomorrow, as my mother used to tell me, is yet to be known.

“Yikes!” Lyra put down the book and tidied away her plate. “Looks like somepony had a screw loose or two,” she muttered to herself. “Buckweasel!” She’d have to remember that one. In fact, when she got out of here she’d be writing up her experiences the first chance she got. Humans, alien technology, human-pony hybrids, and megalomaniac scientists working on a portal that can take them anywhere. There were a hell a lot of questions here, and a lot of pieces which she could, if she took the time, put all together. The way things were at the moment it was probably best not to overthink things though, particularly as her host was definitely on the dangerous side of genius. Turning humans into zeks? The thought was frightening enough without considering the horrifying moral implications. Blue had lost everypony, or rather every ‘one’, that he knew to the maester’s minions. It was doubtful any of them had been turned into zeks willingly. Lyra shivered, pulling the pillow over her eyes. Why had Hesta laughed when Lyra had said they’d been prisoners? Some of the humans had been prisoners, at least according to Celandine and Blue, but Parchment had said the princesses had been exiling ‘problematic’ ponies here since time immemorial too. From what she knew about Galius, the mage who had been heavily involved in the creation of the portals, if not their creator. Something didn’t quite add up though. The ponies sent here were far from your regular prisoners, they were… wait… Tossing off the pillow, Lyra snatched up the diary. She flicked through the pages, searching.

I have no regrets for what I have done to achieve this goal.

“Dear goddess...”

As I pen these last words in the land of my birth, the portal is standing open, waiting for me. The matrices are set, the explosives primed. Now there is only one last thing to do: I shall take one final look at my home to say goodbye before the spells activate.

“Explosives.” Lyra shook her head in amazement. “The portal… It has to be!” Her heart racing she turned page after page, searching for…

...the world shall never forget. Some day, the name of Galeus will be on every ponies lips.

“Luna’s backside, I… I can’t believe it!” Lyra’s hooves shook as she held the diary. Closing the cover she stared at the worn, leather binding. There, in the bottom right hand corner in faded gold leaf, was a stylized letter ‘G’. ‘G’ for ‘Galeus’. She was holding the holy grail of archaeological finds in her hooves. And she’d dropped half eaten carrot pieces on it! If that didn’t deserve three exclamation marks she didn’t know what did! Moreover, it cleared up a lot of the mystery surrounding her disappearance. By the sounds of things, Galeus had been chased by the authorities after they’d discovered her use of ‘volunteers’. Particularly when they’d discovered the old folks homes, mental asylums and schools for ponies with learning disorders, had been ‘losing patients’ at an alarming rate. By the look of things it would seem that the local mad scientist had blown up her tower after taking one last trip through the portal. It would certainly explain the burn marks on the remaining stone work. What was truly surprising though, was that the portal hadn’t been destroyed in the blast that brought the tower down. Which meant… What if the agency goons hadn’t been able to blow up the portal either? What if the portal was still working! Ah, but if that were the case, wouldn’t somepony have come through after her? Hmm… Maybe not. Then there was the fact that nopony here appeared to have attempted, or to even seriously consider going back the other way either. Ah, well, since it was buried under tonnes of rubble and earth that wasn’t exactly surprising. But wasn’t it worth a try now? She’d have to have a word with Parchment or, if push came to shove, that snooty shit, Hesta. That, however, could wait until morning. Right now, she was absolutely knackered.

Lyra let out a loud sigh as she snuggled into the pillow. Despite its age, the springs in the frame and the mattress were just right for a pony, and Lyra was soon drifting away into a land of gentle warmth and feathery softness. She let out a long, low groan as the covers slid over her, down her neck, and… Hang on… What was-?!

“MMF!”

The last thing the green mare expected to see was a large creature, half equine, half human, in her bedroom. She certainly didn’t expect to have a huge hand clamped over her muzzle. Panic gripped her, her muffled scream deadened by the unyielding calloused appendage. A pair of brown eyes met hers.

“Be quiet, Ah’m not here to hurt yer.” The huge creature nodded to her slowly. “Ah’m going to take ma hand away. Promise you won’t scream, Miss. Promise ya’ll hear what ah have ter say.”

Despite her fright, Lyra managed a nod and the hand relaxed slightly, moving just far away so she could speak. “Th… Thirty?” Lyra swallowed. “You’re alive? I thought the zeks were hunting you?”

“They are,” the large creature replied. “But there are many secrets in the citadel that have been forgotten.” He smiled wryly, “But not completely.”

“What’s going on?” Lyra felt a shiver run down her spine even being near this thing. It had saved her from the chock, that was true, but the great hulking beast was definitely unhinged, and it was likely to snap at any moment. She’d have to humour it.

“There are… ponies… who want to meet yer,” Thirty said in his weighty tone. “They need ter speak to yer.”

“Ponies? What ponies?” Lyra asked, a little perplexed. “You mean here? Here in the citadel?”

The big creature shook his head, “No. In the forest, in the caves. They want me to take yer to ‘em.”

“Me? Why? I’m just a uni- I mean, I’m just a pony, Thirty.” Lyra hoped if she played along long enough he’d either get bored and leave, or a zek would come and take the crazy monster away.

“They told me yer had a friend. A friend called...” He frowned in thought, “Blue?”

Now she really did have his attention. “Blue?” Lyra sat up, “What about him? Is he… Is he alive?”

“They said he’s alive,” Thirty nodded. “They said to tell yer they need yer help.”

Blue was alive?! Lyra felt as though a weight lifted from her soul that she never knew was there. After everything that had happened, to hear he was alive was… it was amazing. Beyond amazing! “Is he with these ponies then?”she asked animatedly. “What do they want with me?”

“Ah don’t rightly know.” There was that odd southern inflection again. Thirty scratched his head. Apparently he genuinely didn’t know. “They need help with something.” The poor sod looked so helpless it made Lyra’s heart go out to him.

“What can I do, Thirty?”

This at least seemed to mollify the odd creature. “Come with me,” he said quietly, looking towards the door. “Ah will get you there to the caves where we’’ll meet the ponies. Ah’ll have yer back here by morning.”

“A night time adventure to meet some mysterious ponies, eh? How could I say no to that?” Lyra was still unsure, but then Thirty had said Blue was alive. How else could he have known about the human unless Celandine had told him, or else Blue was there in the cave waiting to see her. Yes… Yes, that had to be it! “Well, let’s go, big guy,” she said trying to raise a smile. She grabbed her panniers and, after finishing her drink, followed the large creature out into the corridor.

This time of night the citadel took on a whole different atmosphere than it had during the day. It wasn’t just the darkness either, broken up as it was into alternating islands of shadow by the yellow pools of light from the electric light bulbs - it was the sounds. Reminiscent of the slowly decaying ships on the shoreline, the metal structure echoed with a veritable cacophony of creaks and bangs as it cooled along with the dying warmth of the day. Lyra barely noticed it now, but then it was surprising what you could get used to. Years of sleeping in draughty tents at dig sites, or catching a few precious winks in a tour bus, gave her the advantage of being able to sleep pretty much anywhere. If only it weren’t so damned hot all the time.

The climate on the island was certainly what Lyra would have called ‘tropical’. In fact it was straight out of one of those fancy holiday brochures she’d seen offering ‘Sun, Sea and Good Times!’ She wasn’t so sure about the latter, but the ‘sun’ and ‘sea’ parts were delivered in spades. The daytimes were full to the brim with lashings of hot sunshine and blue, cloudless skies. Whereas the night times were the complete opposite. They were dark, very dark, and surprisingly cold too. This heating and cooling caused expansion and contraction in the old metal structures that behaved in an almost organic fashion. Windows were nearly always shut in the citadel too, all except for the very highest ones in the tower. The rest were kept firmly closed and ventilation was maintained for the most part by an intricate system of fans that ducted barely cooled air throughout the corridors and rooms. All in all the design of the citadel had been well thought out, and it provided everything a pony could possibly need. There was food, water, even hot showers available to all. If you wanted, and if you had the time of course, you could even go outside. Naturally the word ‘Outside’ in regards to the life of the citadel’s inhabitants wasn’t quite what you’d expect. A massive curtain wall some thirty feet high surrounded the tower and other structures attached to it, providing a recreational space of approximately fifty feet in width encircling the main central buildings like some gigantic wheel. Although quite often in shadow, this provided a goodly amount of space for a morning walk, a canter, or even a full on gallop if you so wished. Morning exercise was encouraged to maintain a certain level of fitness, however for Lyra to get up early enough to take advantage of this she’d have to forgo some of her precious sleeping time. So far the only exercise she’d been ‘taking advantage of’ involved brushes, mops, dustpans and buckets. A crafty snooze in the alcove under the stairs had soon been discovered by that damned snoop Avanta. That little shit had some kind of sixth sense when it came to detecting ponies skiving off for a few minutes of peace.

To go outside of the citadel proper involved passing the ever present zeks who patrolled the exercise area, managed the main gate where the villagers deposited the food deliveries, and manned the towers to keep an eye out for… for whatever it was they looked out for. Chocks, maybe? The bloody things were one hell of a menace, but other than them the only other wildlife Lyra had seen were various kinds of parrot, a small breed of grey furred monkey, and worryingly large insects. Still, dragonflies couldn’t tear your head off and eat you alive, so she could live with them. As for the chocks, how come there were so many here anyway? From what Parchment had told her on one of his rare visits, the zeks would occasionally set out on what he’d called a ‘culling expedition’ to thin the dangerous things down to more manageable levels. The evidence of this was all around them too, from the bed covers and table cloths, to floor rugs and even the cloaks worn by the zeks. Despite this abundance of what you might conservatively think of as ‘recycled’ chock fur, there were still plenty of the more normal woollen blankets to be had if one preferred. Albeit somewhat threadbare due to their age, a large number of these had been salvaged from the human vessels over the years and were kept well laundered so as to prolong their usability. As popular as these may be however, there was no denying that chock fur was a lot warmer at night. Unfortunately you could never quite get away from the faintly musty smell, nor the fact that the thing you were sleeping under had once been part of a living being. To Lyra’s surprise she hadn’t been all that bothered by it. This may have had something to do with the fact that the damned things kept trying to eat her of course, so as far as she was concerned being turned into comfy rugs and blankets was well deserved payback.

“In here,” came the now familiar weird southern drawl.

Lyra paused, watching Thirty move a storage cupboard the cleaning teams used for fresh laundry to one side with unsettling ease. It would have been a heavy enough task with magic, but the muscular biped made it look as though the heavy wooden object weighed no more than a feather. The difference in strength between Lyra and this unusual creature made her question why she was even considering doing this, especially as the revealed grating behind the cupboard brought back memories of dashing through dusty air ducts into stark, very frightening, focus. Not long ago she’d been running for her life from this thing, and now he just appears in her bedroom in the middle of the night, tells her to follow him, and she simply nods her head and says ‘Okay! Sure, why not, eh? Hope somepony finds the body one day!” Gods above, was she crazy?! She looked over her shoulder, half hoping to see somepony coming around the corner to-

“Oop! Hey, watch where you’re shoving!” Lyra sneezed out a cobweb as she was manhandled into the open air duct.

“No time,” came the simple reply.

In what seemed like no more than seconds, Thirty had followed her into the duct, pulled the cupboard back in place, and replaced the grille. So much for second thoughts! Lyra thought bitterly. Well, she had agreed to come, so it wasn’t like she could complain about it now. Thirty hadn’t been mean to her, other than grabbing her rump just now, and it didn’t seem like he was going to invite her to dinner. Yet. She shuddered, but kept walking ahead of the bipedal thing as calmly as possible. Thirty meanwhile merely whispered directions like ‘Turn left’, ‘Turn right’, and so on, like some weird talking map. Ha! Like they’d ever catch on! “In two hundred yards, take the first left,” Lyra muttered mechanically.

There was a sniff behind her, “What?”

“Nothing,” Lyra replied with a sigh. “Just thinking out loud.”

“Not left,” Thirty corrected.

“No?”

“At the next junction, go straight on.”

“Oh, joy,” Lyra chuckled. She rolled her eyes and tried to keep her mind off just how close the large creature was to her backside. Every so often she could feel his breath tickling her tail hairs, and did her best to keep her tail covering more ‘vulnerable’ areas. This in itself only served to make her increase her pace - an act that had her squeaking in fright as a meaty hand pulled on her dock.

“Too fast,” Thirty said heavily. “They’ll hear us.”

“Who?”

“Zeks,” Thirty replied. “Ponies will be asleep. Zeks…” he paused, “Zeks rarely sleep.”

Of course they didn’t sleep! Why would they? After all, who in their right mind would create monsters that actually needed to get some shut eye every now and again? Images of a zek popping its odd shaped head into the air vent in front of her, those terrifying blue eyes staring right at her, sent a shiver down Lyra’s spine. It would have to wait its turn though, adding itself to the other horrifying thoughts that were queuing up in an apparent event to have her peeing herself in fright. Luna help her, she could barely see a bloody thing! The faint glow of her magic allowed her to see a few feet in front of her, but that was all. She could have used a brighter light spell of course, but in such a close environment it would have all but blinded the two of them, not to mention given away where they were to anypony wondering why their air vents were suddenly glowing. Unfortunately she’d never considered learning how to turn the brightness down on the spell at the time, and now it was too bloody late wasn’t it! Gods above, how stupid could you get? And why was she doing this anway?! Panic was welling up in her belly, sending warning messages to every limb, readying them to run. As hard as it was not to, she kept finding herself increasing her pace, only to slow again after a warning huff from Thirty. Hell fire, at least if he said something it would take her mind off things.

“Hey, Thirty?” she tried.

“Quiet.”

And that was that! The rest of the slog through the air ducts comprised of slopes, turns, descents, and then, without any warning, the smooth metal abruptly dropped down at an alarming angle. Lyra tried to slow her descent, but hooves aren’t necessarily the best at gripping smooth steel, and her attempts at slowing her descent only exacerbated the problem. Suddenly she found herself sliding, picking up speed- backwards. Lyra opened her mouth to scream as a large hand shot out and grabbed her forehoof. Their eyes met.

“Th… Thanks,” Lyra swallowed.

Thirty nodded, yet in that briefest of moments as the two breathed in relief, the metal around them, never meant to take such a combined weight, let out a shrieking groan. Something popped, gave, and then floor itself gave way. Thirty vanished into absolute darkness as Lyra stared at the black hole where he’d been barely a second earlier. Any thoughts of what she’d do next were snatched away as the whole air duct pitched up and she began to slide again, faster this time, accelerating her down into nothingness. Lyra swallowed, squeezed her eyes shut, and concentrated on throwing up a magical bubble that would give her protection from… from what? There was nothing there! Lyra’s eyes shot open as cold night air swallowed her, the green mare bursting from the pipe into the jungle with a keening howl of fright. In a strange twist of fate the moonlight illuminated the ropes hanging from the opening, probably put there with the intention of allowing her and Thirty to use them to slide down to safety. Apparently whoever had put them there hadn’t expected the escapees, one of them anyway, to be leaving at something approaching escape velocity.

The green mare flew with all the grace of a rock, her legs flailing as she crashed through trees, bringing down a shower of leaves, branches and twigs in her descent. The ground sloped away from the citadel walls, cushioning her fall to some degree, whilst her magic formed a protective ball of golden energy around her.

“Oh, Luna!” Lyra managed, bouncing around in her sphere of magic. “Make it stop! I wanna get… Oh, gods…!” The magical shield may have saved her from bodily harm, but I did little to stop the world spinning around her in a nausea inducing whirl of motion. To her increasing horror, the meal she’d only recently consumed made an unexpected reappearance. Warm, stinking, and confined in there with her, the magic became a nightmarish ball of fur and vomit with Lyra as its centre, smashing its way down the slope, bouncing off trees, flattening the underbrush, and making an absolute cacophony until, finally, it came to a halt in front a group of ponies standing there in a semi-circle. All of them carried spears, some sporting various war paints and home spun garments clearly constructed from whatever they could find. What they’d found now however, was one of the most bizarre finds one could imagine.

“Is that… Is that her?” One of the warriors asked, staring at the golden ball.

“I believe it is,” the tall one replied. He poked the ball with his spear, making it roll back a few inches. “Hey! Are you alive?”

There was an indefinable sound from inside the sphere, a movement as of something… unfolding. “I don’t know,” a muffled voice said shakily from within. “I think… I think I really need a bath.” The light flickered out and the magic ball vanished. In an instant the creature inside dropped to the ground, her fur slick, steaming in the cool night air, and her face covered in…

“Lode’s breath! You stink!”

Bloodshot yellow eyes stared up at the shocked warrior, “You sure know how to make a good first impression, big guy.” Lyra pulled herself to her hooves and spat out something vile. “Got a drink?”

There was a nervous shuffling of hooves before one of the band hesitantly thrust forward a water skin. Lyra pulled off the wooden top and took a swig, washing her mouth out with the warm fluid. The next mouthful helped take the awful taste of her own stomach contents away. She looked up, glancing from one pony to another. “You guys auditioning for a new series of Daktari, or is the jungle bus due?” Silence. “Hello? Is somepony actually going to say something? You know - speak?”

“Speak?” One of the warriors, with the encouragement of his fellows, stared intently past Lyra along the track she’d made, “Where is Thirty?”

“Buggered if I know,” Lyra replied, flicking a lump of carrot from her mane. “We were heading here through the air ducts when part of it gave way and he vanished. The next thing I knew I was flying downwards and out over the jungle.” She took another swig of the water, “Without wings I might add.” “Gods,” she breathed, “Now I know how hamsters feel.”

“Hamster?” one of the warriors asked.

The tall one gave him a shove accompanied by a warning glance. He turned to Lyra, “You are Lyra Heartstrings.”

“Unfortunately,” the green mare muttered. She took a breath and stared up at the strange stallion. “And who are you, Chief? You the guys Thirty wanted me to see?”

“Is he dead?”

Lyra shrugged, “Like I said, I don’t know. One second he was there right behind me, the next the pipe just gave way and he-”

“She’s killed him!” one of the warrior blurted suddenly. “She has killed the bridge of worlds!”

“Who?” Lyra glared at the younger stallion, her mane bristling. “What the hell are you blathering about, boy? I haven’t killed-”

“ENOUGH!” The tall one stomped his hoof angrily. “There is no time for this foolishness. Zeks will be upon us soon enough. The girl has caused enough noise to wake the dead, and I for one do not wish to join them. Come, children, into the forest.” He glanced at Lyra with an unreadable expression, “Thirty will find us if he lives. If not, then he will be joining his ancestors as shall we all some day. Follow.”

‘Follow’, eh? Lyra rolled her eyes and did as the new fellow instructed. Right then she was working on almost pure adrenalin anyway. Her lack of sleep, waking up to stare into the eyes of that frightening creature, and then stuffed into a tube only to fall into thin air over a forest… Well, what wasn’t there to like about that? Sure, it would make for one hell of an adventure novel, but personally, staying alive was her number one priority. It was a shame about Thirty though, he hadn’t really meant her any harm… Had he? She wasn’t so sure, but now there were more pressing concerns. One of which was the young piebald unicorn who had accused her of killing… who was it again? The ‘bridge’ or something? Bah! Stupid little idiot. He kept stealing glances at her, his grey eyes shooting daggers. Well, he’d better be good with that spear, because if he kept it up she’d be taking it from him and stuffing it up the little tool’s arse until it came out of his fat mouth. Wait. Was that…?She stared at him, making the young stallion look away hurriedly, but it wasn’t his face that had her so interested, it was what was poking out through the band of woven leaves and feathers atop it.

“You’re unicorns!” Lyra said as they hurried through the forest.

“Most,” the tall one said, glancing at her. “Now is not the time for stories, Lyra Heartstrings.” He made a clucking sound with his tongue and the peculiar band picked up the pace, threading their way through the dark undergrowth.

Notone of the strange ponies had a lamp or lantern with them, however they didn’t seem to need them. No provision for Lyra had been given in this regard either, other than for one of their number bringing up the rear to make sure she didn’t fall behind. Whether they were following a trail or simply well versed in slipping through the jungle like ghosts, Lyra couldn’t say for sure. Either way they didn’t run, instead keeping to a steady trot which ate up the distance in no time. At least, Lyra hoped so. The thought of those damned zek things chasing them down was beyond terrifying. An image of huge meaty hands grabbing at her from the dark sent a shiver down her spine and she nearly leaped forward into the stallion in front. Gods, why couldn’t they run?! Come to think of it, where were they going to run to? It was an island, and one that was constantly patrolled by those damned pegasi ‘seekers’. Thankfully the jungle canopy was so thick you couldn’t even see the stars. All there was was that all pervasive inky blackness, the chirp and squawk of unseen night creatures, and the slap of wet leaves. How the hell they stayed wet when it rarely rained was beyond her. And another thing, what about about the chocks? Feathers and fetlocks, the chocks! They had to be out here watching them. They were always hungry, and they had a taste for pony flesh – she’d seen that all to clearly. Celestia’s mercy, what was she doing here? At least in the citadel she was safe, and the zeks, as scary as they were, were there to protect the citizens. Out here she was fair game. She didn’t know who these ponies were, and with Thirty Thirty gone, how was she going to get back to the citadel? He had said he’d return her after speaking to this lot, hadn’t he? She thought he had, but now with her mind so befuddled with tiredness and fear she couldn’t remember. Hell, she couldn’t remember anything about anything now!

It was with this mixture of frustration, anger, and utter exhaustion both physical and mental, that almost had Lyra collapsing as they entered the home of the local tribesponies. Initially it was the sound of echoing hoofsteps that had clued her in that something was different, and then it was the light. Lots of light! As they emerged from the tunnel, an enormous underground cavern unveiled itself in a breathtaking display of glowing blue crystals, lamps of every conceivable kind, and ponies… so many ponies! Most of them, as Lyra quickly took note, were unicorns like her escort.

The group passed by several ponies guarding a set of large doors which were promptly closed behind them. Lyra barely noticed, staring instead at the horde of brightly coloured onlookers who were staring at her just as much as she was in return. They lined balconies, bridges, both natural and artificial, watching her with an intensity of curiosity such as she’d never seen before. All of them wore variations of the dress her escort were wearing: leaves, shells and feathers were most prominent, woven through manes and tails without any particular sense of what would pass as ‘fashion’ back home. Many had smears of bright colour across their faces or flanks, whilst others wore skins of… whatever animal the poor thing had been once. Only Celestia knew what they made of. Lyra had heard of tribes living in the remote parts of Equestria - those who had shunned more modern ways of living and preferred to stay in tune with nature. Expeditions into the uncharted wilds occasionally encountered them, bringing back incredible stories that both frightened and fascinated adults and foals alike. Other races had been encountered too, although how true some of the more ‘exotic’ claims were was anyponies guess. This lot looked like they’d been living here for dozens, if not hundreds of years too. How in Celestia’s name they’d managed to escape the attention of the zeks was yet another mystery to add to the ever growing list.

The group halted in front of a fairly innocuous looking hut, one not all that dissimilar to any of the others in the cavern. It was constructed from logs, roughly cut and shaped to form four walls. The roof was a combination of branches and leaves, which seemed out of place considering they were underground. Lyra was pondering that when a drop of ice cold water splashed onto her back making her flinch. Okay, so maybe an indoor roof wasn’t such a crazy idea after all! She reached back to brush the water off when a voice, heavy with age, spoke from the doorway.

“Lyra Heartstrings?”

Lyra turned to face the old buck, his wizened features speaking far more than mere words could convey about this guys age. So much for being bumped off when you hit thirty like the village! Lyra shivered at the thought. Perhaps there were advantages to living in a hut in a cave.

Rheumy stone grey eyes stared at her, “Come in, my girl. Please.”

Lyra nodded and, leaving her escort behind, walked into the warm and pleasantly dry interior. The bead curtain swishing back with a clatter of seashells behind her was a little unnerving, and reminded her of the fortune tellers tent at the funfair her mother had taken her to when she was a foal. The witch working there had been quite talented too, even using the age old crystal ball to give her an idea of what to expect in the future. It had been the usual stuff of course: fame, fortune, happiness. She’d even had some fame in her time, more than most in fact. As for fortune? Ah, not so much. And happiness? Well, she was happy living with Bonnie in their nice home in Ponyville. She liked her job as an archaeologist, and her musical career had… ups and downs. Just like any other career really. That said she’d really like to introduce her ex-band to the up and down motion of a cricket bat to the skull when she got back. Bloody swines…

“Lyra?”

Lyra looked up in surprise at the familiar voice. “Celandine?!” The yellow coated mare standing next to the ancient buck was covered in sweat and breathing hard. “What is it?” Lyra asked anxiously. “What’s going on? Is Blue here?”

Celandine shook her head, her eyes bloodshot and wet with tears, “Is Thirty with you? Is he outside?” She moved towards the door.

“Celandine, why don’t you sit down and have a cup of tea whilst we talk together,” the elder said softly. He held out a hoof, indicating a set of woven wicker chairs. “You’ve both had quite the adventure by the looks of things.” Reluctantly Celandine took a seat and hunched forward, staring into the cup of steaming liquid the elder produced for the two mares. She didn’t drink a single drop.

“He’s not here, is he?” Lyra asked. “Blue, I mean.”

Celandine visibly shook, whether out of tiredness, fatigue, or mental exhaustion, she looked ready to drop. “No,” she managed in a cracked voice. “He’s… He’s not.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” the elder prompted. “I usually find that to be best, especially when meeting with old friends.”

Old friends? Lyra would hardly have called Celandine a friend. The snarky mare had nearly put a bullet through her, freaked out because she sang a song of all things, then blamed her for Blue’s… “Is he alive?” she asked quietly.

Celandine’s head came up so fast it made Lyra sit back hurriedly. The yellow mare stared at her, then turned her attention to the elder.

“The beginning?,” the old fellow suggested gently.

Celandine took a deep breath and took a sip of her tea. “He is,” she said quietly. “For now, anyway.” A long pause followed. “After you left I managed to staunch Blue’s bleeding and cauterised the wound. It looked worse than it was, but it still took him a day or so before he came back to me.” She hung her head wearily, “I used every bit of knowledge I had to save him, and… I did.” A faint smile ghosted across her face, “He heals surprisingly quickly, but he was burning up with a fever that I needed medicine for.”

“Medicine we have in the village,” the elder clarified.

Celandine nodded, “I came through the caves to avoid the chocks. It’s about a day’s journey in each direction, but Blue was…” She shook her head, “I didn’t have a choice.”

“What happened then?” Lyra asked, trying to encourage her to keep going.

“The elder gave me the medicine and I headed straight back,” Celandine summarised. “I made good time too, once the tide was low.”

“The caves fill up when the tide is at its height,”the elder added helpfully.

“I went as fast as I could, but… but it wasn’t...” Celandine squeezed her eyes shut. “I wasn’t quick enough.” A wracking sob took her, “I… I wasn’t...” The elder reached over and patted her hoof. She looked into his eyes and nodded as if reacting to some silent exchange. Whatever it was she took heart and continued, “They’d taken him.”

“Who, the zeks?” Lyra asked, feeling her hair bristling.

“Zeks, Seekers, probably both,” Celandine sniffed. “There was evidence of a fight, but not much of one. Blue had been too ill to move far. I’d left him a pistol. It was… It was on the floor when I arrived.” She took a breath, “It was empty.”

He’d put up a fight then. “Maybe they...” Lyra didn’t want to say it. “Had they-?”

Celandine shook her head, “There was blood there, but it was outside. They’d used explosives to blast their way into the medical room and get him.” She glanced at the elder once more, “I can’t understand how they knew he was there, unless...”

“Hey, don’t look at me!” Lyra said hurriedly. “I didn’t tell them shit! Anyway, they’d already attacked us once before, remember?”

“The chocks attacked, you mean,” Celandine said warily.

Lyra shook her head, “They did, but… but Parchment was there too. He…” She swallowed, “He wanted me to go with him to the citadel.”

“There was a pony there?” Celandine replied. Her ears stood straight up as she stared at Lyra in amazement. “There was a pony in our ship, and you didn’t say anything?!”

“We were kinda getting attacked by chocks at the time, remember?” Lyra countered. “Anyway, Blue had told me to stay where I was. It wasn’t like I let the bugger in...” She cleared her throat, “I didn’t let the chocks in. Parchment was already in the ship.”

“This Parchment, he is the pony you came through the portal in search of, is he not?” the elder asked.

Grateful of the distraction, Lyra nodded, “Yeah, he came through just before I did. I was sorta looking for him, but-”

“I’m sorry, you said you were ‘sorta’ looking for him?” the elder asked in surprise.

“Well, I was, sorta,” Lyra managed, feeling her ears burning. “I mean, I was going to go through the portal to find him, but these guys turned up and… well, they… um… they sorta blew it up, and I was blasted out the other end.” She cleared her throat noisily, “I was going to come through and look for him anyway, right? I mean, how could I not? He was one of the volunteers under my charge.” She saw the way the others were looking at her, “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I was going to come after him anyway, I just wanted to make sure it was safe first. Hell, it’s not like portals exist in Equestria any more, am I right?” The two stared at her uncomprehendingly.

“Portals don’t exist?” the elder asked in open mouthed amazement.

“Well, um, not exactly,” Lyra said trying to dig herself out of a hole. “They were mostly destroyed by the princesses, or time, or something, I’m not all that sure really. History is a bit unclear on that point.” She gave herself a hard shake. “Anyway, the point is that they’re as rare as Rok shit, and to find one actually working was the most incredible discovery I’ve ever been involved in. Whatever possessed Parchment to go through it is beyond me.” “The rest you know,” she added, nodding to Celandine.

“There are no more portals...” the elder whispered to nopony in particular. “We had hoped...” His old eyes stared into the small brazier in the centre of the hut. “I’d hoped we may find some way to use the old one in the forest, or perhaps the great portal if we could gain access to it.”

“The one in the citadel?” Lyra asked, “Forget it. The damned thing doesn’t do jack shit.”

The atmosphere in the hut was so thick you could have used it to spread on your toast. Thoughts raced through Lyra’s mind, with one in particular standing out. “Hey,” she began, “Thirty told me Blue was here. As in, already here?” She fixed Celandine with a questioning stare. “That was bullshit, wasn’t it.” The two ponies stared at the floor. Lyra could feel her hooves digging into the arms of the chair as her anger began to rear its ugly head. “You made Thirty lie to me to con me into coming here!” Her mane bristled, “Have you any idea how much shit you’ve caused me? Gods above, will one of you be honest with me for five bloody seconds? What the buck is going on here?”

“I think it would help if we all calmed down,” the elder tried.

“Calm down? CALM DOWN?!” Lyra was about as far from calm as it was possible to be right then. “I’ve been dragged out of my bed, made to crawl through shit covered air ducts in the middle of the night, nearly died, thrown out into thin air, nearly dying again I might add, and then ended up rolling through a forest covered in my own puke.” Her eyes locked with the old stallion’s “So don’t you bucking well dare tell me to calm down, old timer.” She huffed noisily, “I have absolutely no intention of calming down one iota until one of you two tells me precisely why I’m here. And right now I’ve got a horrible feeling I’m not here for a pleasant social call and a cup of tea!” She slammed her hoof on the table, “And there’s no sodding biscuits either! Some kidnapping operation this is!”

“You weren’t ‘kidnapped’, Lyra,” Celandine said wearily as though reasoning with a child. “Thirty was told only to ask you to come, not to drag you here.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Lyra retorted. “You send a hulking great monster like that to a girls room armed with a pack of lies about Blue being here, but it’s ‘not kidnapping’.” Her lip curled up angrily, “Like I was going to say ‘no’, right? You knew damned well which buttons to press to have me jumping to your tune, so don’t you dare try to make out you’ve got clean hooves in this, you sanctimonious, self righteous-.”

A distinct tinkling of china drew the mares attention. The elder raised an eyebrow, taking them both in with his uncomfortably knowing gaze, “Do you know who we are, Lyra Heartstrings?” He lifted a hoof, encapsulating the hut, “This place, these ponies - we are all the descendants of those who were deemed… ‘tainted’ by those in the village.”

“I gathered,” Lyra sniffed. “Your friend here called me ‘tainted’ when I first got here. Several times in fact if I remember correctly.”

Celandine shot her a look, but the elder continued regardless, “Not all the children in the village are given to the citadel. Some were sent into the forest.”

“To die,” Lyra said quietly.

“To die,” the elder agreed with a nod. “But one of the eldest in the village found this cave, the one we now call our home. Here we live, far from the gaze of the maester and her monsters. Far too, it has to be said, from the village some of us once saw as home.”

“You mean you spend your entire lives hiding underground?” Lyra shook her head in amazement. “Gods above, how can you live like this?”

“It’s better than dying,” Celandine replied. “Here the ponies who would otherwise have been eaten by the chocks can live, have families, and grow old just as they were meant to.”

“They were ‘meant’ to be in Equestria, living beneath the sun and moon, not underground!” Lyra snorted.

“And what would you have us do, Lyra Heartstrings?” the elder asked. “The Maester controls this island, including the very sky and the sea which surrounds it. Here however we have fish, fresh food that grows in the light from the crystals, and at night we hunt the forests.” He smiled, “We have a life here. A good life.”

Lyra bit back saying what she really thought about even considering living in a cave as being a ‘good life’. As much as these people were ponies just like her, and mostly unicorns at that, she couldn’t help but shake the feeling that speaking her mind here could have unexpected, and very unpleasant, side effects. Her eyes were drawn to a spear leaning against the wall. She sighed, closed her eyes, and cleared her mind. “What has any of this got to do with me?” she asked.

Celandine shifted uncomfortably, “It’s Blue...” She coughed into her hoof and adjusted how she was sitting, trying to get her words out. “We need your help, Lyra.” The mare shook as she added, “We have to get him back before he’s turned into… into a zek.”

Now that really did get Lyra’s attention! “A zek,” she echoed levelly. “One of those bloody monsters?!” Her ears flattened as she got down from her chair, “Dear Celestia, why in the name of all the gods didn’t you tell me that from the get go? Do you seriously think I would have left him there to be turned into one of those… those freaks?!”

“We weren’t sure how you’d react,” the elder explained gently. “You don’t know us, Lyra Heartstrings. You barely know Celandine, let alone her human.”

“You barely know me, either!” Lyra countered. “Yet you saw fit to come and drag me here in the middle of the night!”

“I know, I know,” the elder smiled sadly. “But we had little choice other than to ask for your help - directly. You live in the citadel. You can travel its halls and its rooms without notice.”

“Thirty lived there,” Lyra offered. “Why didn’t you ask him? I mean, the guy could find his way through the air ducts, and-”

“Thirty is a child,” the elder said quickly. “Or more accurately he is… ‘young of mind’, if not necessarily in body.” He smiled sadly, “Once we used to joke that he was the worst kept secret of the citadel. The best part was that the maester knew it too. I don’t recall anypony being frightened by him, especially as he grew up there, and yet despite that she still kept him hidden from everypony, down in the dark places where few ponies had cause to go.” The old stallion’s eyes stared into the brazier, gazing into a time long passed, “He lived there, down in the darkness, a reminder of a time best forgotten. Forgotten by all but a few still alive today.”

“Best forgotten?” Lyra asked curiously. “Why? If you all knew who he was and where he was, why go to the effort of hiding him in the first place?”

The elder shook his head, apparently keen to change the subject, “For that you would have to ask the maester, Lyra.” He took a deep breath. “Thirty is a simple soul,” he said succinctly, “and one that is best left unburdened by life’s troubles.”

Ah, so he’s a bit ‘behind the curve’ when it comes to some of the more complicated thought processes, eh? Lyra didn’t say anything, but she got the idea. “One of your guys called him the ‘bridge’, or something?” she asked.

The elder nodded, “And so he is. He is a being born of two worlds: the human and the equine. He is the bridge between the two, and for that crime alone he was locked away from both the sun and the moon.” He raised an eyebrow, “As indeed are we, as you so correctly observed.”

Lyra felt a shiver run down her spine. ‘Bridge’ or not, it still didn’t explain why Thirty Thirty had been locked away by the maester. Lyra frowned in thought. If he was born of a union between a human and a pony, and considered a being from a time ‘best forgotten’, then perhaps… Was he the child of a rape victim? He was certainly a frightening creature to be sure, but to lock him away in the darkness seemed a cruel fate for a child who had not asked to be born as he was.

“Thirty used to steal medicine for us from the citadel stores,” Celandine explained. “We would trade with him in exchange for tea, food, lamp oil, and other necessities.”

Lyra hung her head, remembering the cup of tea she’d enjoyed before Thirty had freaked out and she’d ended up running for her life. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but on the way here the air vent collapsed and he fell just before I ended up shooting out the other end.” She looked up to meet the elders knowing gaze, “I’m sorry… There was nothing I could do.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry yourself about that,” the old stallion nodded knowingly. “He still lives.” He smiled, lifting his cup, “Of that I have no doubt.”

Lyra watched him closely, but as he said, the elder didn’t seem to have any doubt about what he was saying. “How can you be so sure?” she asked.

“Because I know, Lyra Heartstrings,” the elder grinned toothily. “Let us leave it at that, yes?” He reached up and scratched his mane, revealing his unfortunately short horn. “I think it may be time to explain a few things to our visitor whilst we refresh ourselves, yes?” Celandine didn’t seem too pleased by that statement, but reluctantly nodded. “Now don’t worry yourself,” the elder said pleasantly, “I have it on good authority that the human will be kept in his natural state for a few days before anything happens to him.” He glanced at Lyra, “Plenty of time to help our friends, wouldn’t you agree, Lyra Heartstrings.”

“It’s Lyra,” Lyra replied, meeting the ancient fellows gaze. “My name is Lyra. And as for helping you, I’ve already got an idea what it is you are going to ask of me.”

“Do you now?”

“Oh, yes,” Lyra replied pleasantly. “I may not have been top of my class in school, but I always know when I’m about to be shafted.” Celandine winced at Lyra’s words, but the elder never flinched. “Call it a ‘sixth sense’, so to speak.”

“Hmm...” The elder watched her for a while and then suddenly started to laugh, clopping his forehooves together. “Oh, most excellent! I like you, Lyra. You remind me of my late wife. She was always so… what’s the word… resilient?” He shrugged, “Bah! I never was much of a wordsmith. Suffice to say that we shall now retire to the springs and enjoy a bath. I trust you don’t mind mixed bathing?”

“We’re hardly in the Ritz now, are we?” Lyra replied.

“Ha! Well, wherever that is I’m sure it’s far superior to a cave,” the elder nickered toothily. “Come now, let’s go and soak the weariness from our old bones.” He sniffed surreptitiously, “Although, perhaps a wash first, eh?”

“Now we’re talking!” Lyra went to toss her mane but thought better of it. There were still lumps of… something, still stuck in there. “Oh, erm, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Didn’t I mention it?” The elder groaned, a wry smile passing over his lips. “My apologies, it must be my age.” He cleared his throat and stood up tall and straight. “My name, Miss Heartstrings, is Lode Stone.”